True Love Is Where No Shame Exists.
The spirit that shows up and commits, time and again, dusts itself off, picks itself up.
To look in the almighty mirror.
To sift through a lifetime of battle-scars and release all martyrdom,
victim-hood, endless decades of conditioning.
To un-learn what you may have been buried in, ingrained in for many years.
This should be celebrated, not shamed.
There is a culture of the self-righteous…
I have personally encountered this within many a spiritual fold, in which the irony was apparent — to be witnessed in your surrender, yet experience a very visceral passing of judgment… of the literal holier-than-thou.
The tender human in me would hurt in such moments — admittedly in reaction, but also in pure curiosity — to the evident barrier or resulting contraction I felt this created, so strongly, between the judger and the judged.
Reactivity in itself can be embraced as a gift, if we retain an awareness. It represents the gift of illumination, lighting our way within to inner landscapes and core wounding that needs our efforts in excavation, healing and processing. I remain forever grateful to those who, at times, held me in tough love or remained impersonal enough at pivotal moments, allowing me to be my own remedy.
Left to sit inside my own schisms, crucial pauses to ponder personal reactions and the self. To ask the deeper questions — of origin, patterning, behavioural distortion — which at first felt horrific yet made the way for initial footholds of transformation to take place.
The additional element of shaming however was oddly present.
We can’t limit ourselves and all our offerings to others to tough love and impersonality. When this is paired with shaming, we live dangerously.
I do not deny that, as humans, we have our work cut out for us. From monad to microcosm, we all have our stuff. To be faced and worked through openly and earnestly. To be owned gently. But might it not be shamed?
Are we no more than the sum total of our soul baggage? Or can we clear out such concepts, and be witnessed in the moment?
Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, to arrive at that choice of action, to step up with the sincerest of hearts, the sense of willing to do the ultimate work. If the other we attempt to commune with wears steadfast blinkers — of judgment, assumption, shaming — subconscious doors surely begin closed before us.
What a shame it is not to recognize such missed opportunity. Glossed-over expansion — together, as learning, receptive beings. Humble students of all heroic probability. Surely this is where the alchemy lies.
Life is terrifying, exhilarating and imperfect, and we cannot swim the stormy sea for another, but when we witness a choice to sink or swim, and our peer chooses the latter, can we be the lighthouse versus the lead weight?
And I take a further dive into this inquiry.
May we hold a new vision.
Left to the beauty of process, whilst held in the living, loving fold of true tribe, soul family.
Deeply honored in all the vulnerability and courage it takes to be so, in the face of such personal, relentlessly unforgiving, internalized shame.
The knowing of a gratitude that runs so deep in the face of unimaginable pain and suffering. When you exist at a point, on your knees, enduring a physical or deeply rooted, spiritual pain.
And still you make the drop into such overwhelming expansion of gratitude inside the beauty of life and Divinity’s unwavering love, support, sacrifice. The raw, exquisite truth.
Who are any of us to shun another’s efforts in being that one sprouting seedling, growing up through the cracked solidity of pavement?
What acts of our own humanity do we choose to celebrate, nurture and stand by in solidarity and compassion, instead of contracting further into an isolating, shaming, blaming cult-ure?
Who are we to feel the right to hold the metaphorical mirror up to another, only to stone the person at their very first sight… the sign of reflection? Are our own reflections that untarnished?
Might we truly commit to being that tender fold? That landing space in which the grist for the mill is found, home truths may be acknowledged, where we can treasure the ultimate pit stops, the regroups, deep in the trenches?
Upward rising, with nurturing pauses and moments in time when the miraculous birth of that battered, beaten-down soul actively sets its own divine spark alight, and perhaps reaches out for a hand to foster, or at least bear gentle witness to, the balancing act of that very first wavering step, back up into the light?
Not one of us can know the thousands of internal steps it took another to break through the fold, defy all odds, purge through lifetimes, lineages of shame, ancestral carnage, crystallized weight…
… and so we make the choice of no apologies for the sharing of our sincere hearts, in all their many shades.
And as we shake, wobble, falter in the midst of re-alignment, through our hue-man imperfection, jostling in the shadows for a time in which the gift becomes known, we begin to discover the full spectrum of hues, tones and shadings… Divine depths of the inner palette.
Truth knows no regret.
And I’ll not look to you to be my crutch. My attachment.
Who are we to one another? As I brush up against you, in life’s driftwood, amidst the combined debris, love is not purely to satiate, but to surge in combined force, melding both into Source.
There is redemption and divinity in bearing witness to one another.
Imagine the infant’s wobbly steps that birth into solid footsteps.
You watch as the Phoenix takes its flight.
Would you be satisfied with shaming it back into the nest? Teaching it the nest is all there is?
In this dualistic existence, we are forever editing ourselves.
Cutting pieces, shards of our beautiful souls. Might we not recognize their majestic mosaics?
Let’s hold a new vision, of precious souls being put back together as art, the cracks and crevices in between creating the sparkle, like Japanese gold Kintsugi.
True family does not mock, shun or taunt first steps, nor are they so quick to forget their own, individual, shaky starts. When we find our true tribe, we experience an evident joy in paying it forward. From a beloved, lovingly weathered celebration of every liberated freedom.
This is true love, where no shame exists
So radiate your magnetic force.
We are raw humanity. Can we love one another, not despite our shaky steps, starts and wobbles, but because of them?
Posing a loving sacrament in celebrating the beloved in the essence of another’s true alignment.
“I love you because, in a sense, I am you. And still, I love you for the You that you are.
In all your glory and the unique flame of selflessness you are destined to burn in communion and community.
May we celebrate one another, and warm the embers within countless others.”
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An ongoing journey with life and health has led Ange Sang back to her true creative therapy, through the written word and the lens of the camera. Ange is a devoted lover of all things nature, a tree-hugger, and has a heart that feels utterly compelled to shoot arrows of word and image, straight from her mystical experience of life to as many receivers as possible. On a unique path of physical illness, Ange began to share her written and visual arts as tools of thanks — a nod to an ever-rising theme of gratitude, in recognition of those around her. Her heart-vision continues to find its solace and drive in the grace of Mama Nature and the aim to recognize and articulate the grapple of the human condition.
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